


Sleep

by Hannahbette



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannahbette/pseuds/Hannahbette
Summary: Fiddleford is always there to make sure Ford gets enough sleep





	

“Ford, its been hours now. Don'tcha suppose it’s time to turn in for the night?” Fiddleford lifted the welding mask up, unveiling his grimy face. The overhead light staged across from the skeleton of the portal caused sweat that clung to his forehead to glisten.   
Stanford put his book down and refocused his gaze. Pen in hand, he had been tracing his sketches with a thin layer of ink about halfway through his third journal. He closed it with a ‘poof’ and arose from where he sat on the icy ground.   
“Quitting time already?” he asked, leaning over to check Fiddleford’s wristwatch. His assistant rolled up his own lab-coat sleeve to display the time. Ford scoffed as soon as he laid eyes on the roman numerals being pointed to.   
“2:36?” he read incredulously. “There’s still about three more hours of work that can be done with that much time!”   
Fiddleford waved him off before slipping out of his frayed gloves.   
“You can keep on workin’ if you want, but I’m about ready to drop.“ He paused to let a drawn-out yawn escape from his mouth. “Can’t handle my blow-torch too well if I’m exhausted! G’ Night, Stanford.”   
Watching him saunter into the control room, Ford rapidly clicked the end of his pen; tip poking out and in.   
“You’re wasting so many valuable PORTAL minutes! Sleep is for the weak!” he called out, words bouncing off the cave-like walls.

________________________________________

About the least likeliest thing Ford expected to see when he entered his room was Fiddleford sprawled out across his bed. And yet, he saw it.

A clock hanging above the wooden backboard showed “4:53” in bold numbers. Fiddldford’s stained lab coat draped over the top of Ford’s rolling desk chair, leaving him in a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of khakis. Glasses, though askew, were still perched at the end of his nose. His chest raised and dropped to the pace of his light breathing. 

Ford stepped over the mound of inside-out jeans and sweater vests that blanketed his rug and dipped down, casting a shadow over his partner’s sleeping figure. 

Taking hold of his arm, he started shaking it incessantly to elicit a response. 

“Pssst, buddy. You fell asleep on my bed,” he whispered. Fiddleford remained limp in his grasp. 

Stanford dropped his arm on the mattress and heaved a sigh. It was clear that Fiddleford was intent on sleeping until morning. He removed the glasses from his assistant, neatly folding them up before placing them on his nightstand before doing the same with his own. 

He peeled off his turtleneck and added it to the pile collecting on the floor. Bed sheets were lifted, despite Fiddleford’s body weighing them down, and Ford dove underneath them. A warm covering was set down just past his waist. He nestled into a comfortable position, facing away from Fiddleford; readying himself to drift off to sleep. 

Stanford nearly choked when he felt something touch his back. Goosebumps prickled across his skin as what he recognized to be Fiddleford’s hands explored the small of his back, working their way upwards. 

Reaching his shoulder blades, they started kneading his tense back muscles. Ford rolled over to snatch his partner by the neck and angle his head; jamming lips against lips. A low droning noise rumbled from Fiddleford’s throat. 

Stanford broke the messy kiss to breathe out, “I hate it whenever you do that. You know how easily I get startled around here.”

In the dull light from the hallway, he made out a grin forming on Fiddleford’s face. 

“Which explains why ya just canoodled me.” His head rested on one of Ford’s bare shoulders. In turn, Ford wound an arm around the skinnier man, pulling him closer.

“You probably got soot all over my face,” he stated, eyeing the splotchy patterns on the ceiling. 

“’S whatcha get for working so late,” Fiddleford replied. The tip of his nose grazed Stanford’s neck, prompting chills to run through him. 

Ford pecked his forehead and eased back under the lulling heat of the bed comforter.

“I can’t believe you pretended to doze off in my bed for hours just so you could sleep with me,” he said. “You could have just asked, you know.”


End file.
